Home Is Where My Car Is Parked
by Sadistic Writer of FanFiction
Summary: Shortly after the events of the tunnels, Steve's parents kick him out. He now is living out of his car, but is quickly running out of food and money. On top of all of this, Billy's still taking every opportunity to make his life a living hell. Steve's not sure how long he can live like this.
1. Out On My Own

"Plant your feet, Harrington!"

Steve barely had time to clench a single muscle before Billy's mass slammed him into the locker bank behind him. He grunted upon impact, and the sharp pain in his shoulder blades quickly ebbs down to a throbbing ache. Steve glared up at Billy, who in turn, gave him a shit-eating grin, before striding away with Tommy and Carol.

Ever since Max threatened Billy during the night of the tunnels, he's been leaving her alone; unbeknownst to her, it was at the expense of Steve, who would put up with Billy no matter how bad the bullying got if it meant keeping her safe.

Sighing, Steve pulled himself together, shaking his frame a little, and doing a couple of small stretches in hopes of easing the pain in his back. This incident in of itself wasn't all that bad, in fact, Steve had gotten off easy today. It felt worse than it was due to all the other injuries that marred the skin hidden beneath his clothes.

Steve quickly went to his locker to pick up a couple of notebooks he'd need if he felt like attempting to do his homework that night. He then headed out to the parking lot in time to see Max get into Billy's Camaro, and to see the rest of the kids (except El, as she was still hiding out in Hopper's cabin) walking towards his own BMW.

"Hey Steve!" Dustin called, face widening into a familiar, toothy grin.

"Shitheads." He affectionately acknowledged the group.

"Is your trunk lock fixed yet?" Mike asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice. It was a question he posed to Steve everyday after school.

"No."

"Dude! When are you going to get it fixed?" Lucas whined.

"I'll get it fixed, when I get it fixed. Now get in the car or walk home."

In truth, Steve's car trunk wasn't broken, and never had been. He simply couldn't have the kids seeing all his belongings stuffed in there, surely they'd put two and two together, and Steve wasn't ready to deal with that shitstorm. Since he'd told them it was broken, the kids didn't bother with their bikes anymore, accepting that it was get a ride, or bike to school. But they couldn't change their minds at the end of the day. Typically, they opted for the ride.

They piled into the car, Will riding shotgun since it was his turn. Steve was more quiet than usual during the ride, letting the sounds of arguing and tales from middle school wash over him. He dropped off Lucas first, then Mike, Dustin, and lastly, Will. The last boy sent Steve a small, concerned smile as he got out of the car, thanking the older boy for taking them home. Steve was too exhausted to begin to worry over the look Will had cast him, instead he forced a smile of his own, softly assuring Will that it was no problem giving them rides home.

Steve drove to the field where the hole to the Upside Down tunnels used to be, cutting the engine and running a shaky hand through his hair. His parents had finally kicked him out of the house, something Steve had anticipated, but it still had shocked him when it actually happened. His heart still stung at the betrayal, parents are supposed to love, care for, and shelter their kids. What had he done to deserve this? Was he _that _much of a disappointment that he'd brought this on himself? They'd never truly loved him, at least, that's what Steve thought. He wasn't the perfect little boy they'd wanted him to be. So they tossed him to the curb, effectively dooming him to homelessness. He had no friends to stay with, and he sure as hell wasn't going to drag the kids or their siblings into his problems.

He'd been living out of his car for the past month, and he was quickly running out of money. Steve's attempts at getting a job had been null, and he'd been rationing food since he was kicked out, usually going two or three days without eating. When he did eat, he made sure it was in the presence of others, so nobody would think he was starving himself. Most of his money went towards gas for the car. He knew it would be bad if he couldn't drive anywhere. Especially if he couldn't switch up where he parked at nights, which would just raise suspicions. Usually he'd cycle between parking at the field, on the edge of Murkwood, or just outside of town. He made sure to never stay more than twice in a row.

Steve knew he looked… bad. Even though it'd only been a month, he'd already lost quite a bit of weight. At first, it was just water weight, but now he looked almost sickly. His ribs and collarbone were much more prominent. His hair was flat, and all of his clothing was wrinkled. He struggled to concentrate, and basketball was damn near impossible. Billy breathing down his neck, tripping and pushing him at every opportunity. Plus, the physical activity itself made his head swim, and left him fatigued. He wasn't sure how long he could go on like this.


	2. Piecing Last Night Together

"Are you okay?"

Steve squinted at the somewhat blurry figure before him. He blinked slowly, before realizing that he was not at his house, but at the Byers' house. He was curled into a ball on one end of the couch, while a girl he'd only briefly seen the night before laid on the other side.

"Dustin?" He questioned, not quite with the program yet. He was confused, and what he remembered from the night before came to him in flashes, there were significant gaps in his memory, something he didn't have the energy to care about at that moment.

"Are you okay?" Dustin reiterated.

"Uh… sure. I'm good. Are… are you—are all of you—okay?"

"We're fine Steve. Will's exhausted, and so is El. Mike sprained his ankle, but he'll be fine. I might've thrown up literally everything in my body." Dustin quickly went on after seeing the concerned look Steve shot him. "But I'm feeling way better now. Max and Lucas are safe, so are Nancy, Johnathan, Mrs. Byers and Hopper."

"Oh. Okay." Steve replied, looking like he was in a whole other world.

"I'm gonna go get… someone…" Dustin trailed off, worried about how distant Steve was acting.

He left to look for an adult, and returned with Hopper, who he'd dragged from the kitchen.

"He doesn't seem right." Dustin explained, anxiously.

"Alright kid," Hopper groaned as he knelt beside Steve, "how you holdin' up?"

Steve blinked owlishly at him, before lazily smiling.

"Chief! You're here." His smile slipped off his face before he sorrowfully went on. "I failed. I… I didn't keep the—the kids safe. I'm a bad—a bad babysitter."

"Nah kid, it's okay. You did what you could. Not your fault the little gremlins don't understand the word 'no'." Hopper assured him, frowning at the slight incoherence in Steve's speech. "Did you want to get checked out at a hospital?"

"No. No I'm good. I've had—I've had worse. It's okay." Steve slurred.

"Alright kid. I'm gonna respect your wishes, but if you take a turn for the worse, I will not hesitate to haul your ass to the hospital."

Steve just grinned in response.

Throughout the day, Joyce and Hopper would sit with him and El on the couch, checking in on them, before flitting away to check on Will and the other kids. He and El mostly sat in a somewhat awkward silence, but did occasionally talk to one another.

"You helped my friends." Eleven stated.

"I tried, yeah." Steve replied.

"Thank you."

Steve smiled wryly at her before spacing out for a while, slipping into a light doze after a couple of minutes. Eleven fell asleep as well.

That evening, Hopper and Joyce gathered everyone into the living room.

"I want all of you to stay here with us for at least another night." Joyce told them, wringing her hands.

"Call your parents. One at a time!" Hopper shouted, as the younger kids clambered for the phone that had been recently replaced.

Steve didn't bother with calling home, it wasn't like there was anyone there to miss him, and, on the off chance that there was, he'd more or less get a speech on not staying out all night with something about responsibility and maturity thrown in for good measure. Instead, he headed to the kitchen to get some more ice for his face, which had begun to throb uncomfortably.

"Hey sweetie. How are you doing?"

Steve didn't reply, instead he stared at Joyce in confusion before realizing that she was talking to him.

"You must be tired of being asked that." She laughed, awkwardly.

"Sorry Mrs. Byers. I didn't—I didn't realize that you were talking to me." He apologized.

"But you are doing okay, right? Do you need to call home?"

"Yeah I'm doing fine. Don't worry about me. And nobody's home so I won't need the phone or anything."

A small frown graced her features, before she sent him a quick little smile, patting his shoulder on her way out. He couldn't help but relish the feel of the comforting gesture. His own parents were never around long enough to worry about him or show him any affection. Sighing softly, he grabbed a pack of frozen peas from the freezer. He took a few steps towards the living room, then froze.

"Hey Dustin?" He called.

"Yeah Steve?" Dustin hollered back.

"Where'd the frozen Demodog go?"

"Uh… yeah about that… Hopper decided it would be a good idea to get rid of it." Dustin pouted, as he walked through the doorway.

"Oh. Sorry man. Sorry 'bout Dart too. I know you cared about him."

"It's okay. It's for the best. Why don't you come sit down with us? Hopper wants to piece together what happened last night so we're all on the same page."

"Okay. But I don't—I don't remember much of what happened." Steve said.

Dustin grabbed Steve's wrist, as to not aggravate the cuts and bruises on the teen's knuckles, and gently guided him back to the couch.

The rest of the night was spent filling each other in on what had happened, with a few arguments breaking out over the kid's actions, but all in all, was a pretty decent night. Steve was much happier amongst the oddball group than he ever was when he was home alone. He dreaded going back to the coldness of his house, he'd much rather stay in the warmth and vibrancy of the Byers' home. Little did he know, the next day would be his last time going to his house.


	3. Headaches And Confrontations

Bright beams of sunlight hit Steve's face, causing him to see red behind his eyelids, rather than the blissful darkness of night. He scrunched his nose in annoyance, before accepting that the light wasn't going to just disappear, no matter how much his throbbing headache wanted it to.

"Morning sleeping beauty." Dustin taunted, when he noticed Steve had awakened.

"Fuck off, dickhead." Steve slurred.

"How you feelin'?"

"Just peachy."

"That bad, huh?"

"It's nothing I can't handle, Henderson. Don't worry 'bout it."

"So Hopper said he would drive us all home." Dustin said, bringing up a lighter topic, as he figured Steve wanted some sense of normalcy.

"That's… that's nice Dusty."

"Did… did you just… call me _Dusty_?" He asked, incredulously.

"Yeah."

Dustin frowned. Steve was acting even weirder than yesterday.

"Uh, do you, yenno, need anything?" Dustin redirected.

"Nah. I'm good."

"Oh… okay. Imma just… go now. I guess."

Steve hummed in response, opting to stare out the window, rather than actively participate in the conversation.

Shoulders slumped, Dustin slunked into the kitchen, joining Max, Lucas, and Mike at the table.

"Maybe he should've gone to the hospital." Max said.

"I agree. You know that sometimes it takes awhile for the full effects of an injury really hit." Mike added.

"I don't know guys… he says he's fine. Maybe he just needs to go home?" Dustin argued.

"Hey dipshits," Steve drawled from the doorway, "how about you let him decide for himself what's best? I can take care of myself, believe it or not."

"Steve!" They exclaimed in varying degrees of guilt and panic.

"Guys, I'm fine. It honestly looks worse than it feels."

"Are… are you going home today?" El asks, joining the others in the kitchen.

"Yeah kid, I gotta head home today. My parents should be back in town, and they'll flip their shit if I don't grace them with my presence."

El frowned at his wording, quickly turning to Mike for an explanation, something the others affectionately called 'El Translations'. Hopper and Joyce joined the kids in the kitchen, and Will sat with his friends at the table.

"You four," Hopper said, glancing at Max, Mike, Lucas, and Dustin, "I'll take home after breakfast. Then I'll come back to drive Nancy and Steve home, and I'll take El with me."

"Sounds good Chief." Lucas agreed.

"I can drive myself home." Steve argued.

"No driving. You have a head injury. Which… speaking of, let's go into the living room Harrington." Hopper dragged the teen out of the room.

Steve sat on the couch, and wrapped his arms around his middle. Glancing up, he saw Hopper staring down at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"How's the head feeling?"

"It still hurts. But it's not bad." Steve replied.

"Your parents home?"

"They should be. It is Monday, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then they should be home." Steve told him.

"Alright. Any dizziness?" Hopper asked.

"Not really."

"Nausea?"

"No."

"How are your ribs feeling?" Hopper went on.

"Not too bad."

Hopper looks down at Steve, before clasping his shoulder and declaring him well enough to leave the Byers' house. Steve convinced Hopper to allow him to drive home, seeing as it wasn't that long of a drive, and it would be a hassle to get someone to drive his car home. Hopper had relented, on the condition that the second Steve got home, he was to call Joyce to let her know that he was safe.

Once the kids all said their goodbyes to Steve, he hastily left. He anxiously drove home, knowing that his parents would be livid if he were any later. He did, however, drive slower and more cautiously than usual; he didn't want to accidentally hurt someone if his head began to swim or vision blurred too badly.

He made it to the house with no problems. He sat in his seat for a couple minutes, absentmindedly running his thumb over his nail bat, which had ended up at the foot of the passenger seat. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he got out of his car. Seeing his parents always made him nervous. They always had something to criticize him for, whether it be his grades, plans for after high school, or recreational activity, he never could please them.

His parents weren't abusive. At least, not in Steve's eyes. Sure, there was the occasional slap here and there, or long nights of being told how worthless and unloved he is, but it wasn't like they _beat_ him or anything. And yeah, they were gone a lot, but hey, they're business people. It's what they do.

His hands grew clammy as he approached the door. He tested the knob to see if it was unlocked. It was. Heaving a sigh, he went in, mentally preparing himself for some sort of verbal conflict that inevitably awaited him. He closed and locked the door behind him, and he put his shoes on the side of the mat by the front door. He could hear whispers coming from the kitchen, and something slammed against the counter. Steve flinched, realizing that his father must be in a _really_ bad mood. He paused outside of the kitchen.

"He is a disgrace to the family name. He's never going to go anywhere in life. Nothing but a damn liability. Fucking screw up." His father sneered, voice low.

"That's not true. He'll figure things out, just… give him more time. He's our boy—"

Not wanting to overhear more about himself, or worse, get caught eavesdropping, Steve casually walked into the room, greeting his parents with faux happiness.

"Dear lord son, what the hell happened to your face?" Mr. Harrington bellowed.

"Uh… this guy was beating up on some kid, so I stepped in. It wouldn't be right letting an innocent kid get hurt by someone older and larger than him." Steve explained.

"Oh dear," his mother cooed, "are you alright?"

"Yeah mom, I'm okay. It looks worse than it feels."

"Stop coddling him." Mr. Harrington spat, glaring at his wife.

Steve shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. A pit of unease settling in his gut. His father turned his scowl towards him.

"You, young man, are in _big_ trouble. You've got some explaining to do."

Steve gulped, fists clenching and unclenching as every little mistake he'd made lately rushed to the front of his mind. He could feel himself begin to get jittery, but forced his muscles to stay still.

"Do you want to explain why we found drugs in your room?"


	4. Facing The Music

Steve stood before his parents, in a shocked silence. This wasn't good. His father could tolerate drinking and partying, albeit unhappily, but one thing his father _did not _put up with, was drugs.

"I refuse to have some stupid druggie for a son." Mr. Harrington spat, voice like venom, and a scowl seemingly to now be permanently etched on his face.

"Drug—druggie? Dad it's only marijuana!" Steve exclaimed.

"Yeah? Only marijuana? Last time I checked, marijuana isn't white and powdery. Honestly, how stupid do you think I am?"

"Shit." Steve muttered.

"Last time we were here, you said you didn't want to go to college, the time before that, you said you didn't want to work for my company. And now, now you're doing drugs? What is wrong with you Steven? You're throwing your life away. You're nothing but an irresponsible waste of space. No son of mine would disrespect the family name like this. I want you out."

"Out? What do you mean, 'out'?" Steve squeaked, anxiety gripping his heart like a vice.

"I'm kicking you out of the house. Do not come back, you hear me?" Mr. Harrington said, in a patronizing tone.

"Go pack your things, Steve." Mrs. Harrington said.

Teary-eyed, Steve ran to his bedroom. He sat down on the mattress, head pounding and tears leaking down his face. He sniffled, trying to come up with a game plan. He didn't have any friends—at least, not anymore—he didn't have extended family, and there was no way he was going to bother Mrs. Byers or the Chief. What if the kids found out? Those little rascals were the only thing close to friends that he had.

Shoving himself off the bed, he grabbed his duffle bag out from beneath the bed. He threw in all his underwear, most of his socks, jeans, sweatpants, shirts, hoodies, and some hats and gloves. He grabbed his wallet, toothbrush, toothpaste, and a reusable water bottle. His nail bat was in the trunk of the car, as was the radio that Dustin had given him during their hunt for Dart. He slipped on his grey jacket, feeling the pocket to make sure his lighter was still there.

Mrs. Harrington silently came into his room, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. She handed him a wad of cash, bringing her pointer finger to her lips, before giving her son a hug, and wordlessly walking to her own room.

Steve let out a choked sob. This was happening. He was getting kicked out. Hastily, he hid the money in a sock, stuffing said sock into the very bottom of his duffle. He heard heavy footsteps coming from the hallway, and tried to stop the tears.

"Stop your crying, boy." His dad sneered from the doorway. "Your mother has convinced me to allow you to keep that car of yours. I suggest you hurry your packing."

Steve nodded in response, not trusting his voice.

"Oh, here are your birth certificate, SIN, and other documents you might want to keep safe." He threw the folder at his son, before stalking away.

Steve filled the rest of his duffle bag with personal hygiene supplies, (deodorant, lotion, chapstick, the likes.) He carried it, and his school backpack down to his car, putting on his shoes and grabbing his winter coat in one hand, his 'important documents' in the other. He shoved everything in the backseat of his car, before going back inside for a pillow and blankets. Those he carefully put over his nail bat, radio, flashlight, and first aid kit that always stayed in the trunk of his car.

_I wonder what they did with my weed and coke… and if I can get them back. If I'm gonna be a homeless junkie, might as well act the part._

Steve wandered back inside, and the thought that this could be the last time he sets foot in his home runs across his mind.

"Hey dad?" Steve calls, tentatively.

"Don't call me that." He snaps, standing at the top of the stairs, and Steve can't help but wish that he'd just tumble down the steps.

"What?"

"Do not call me 'dad', Steven. I'm not your dad anymore. Consider yourself disowned."

A sharp pang of heartache struck Steve at those words.

"What did you want Steven? I really don't want this… unpleasantness to drag on forever. I'd like you to just leave already."

Steve swallowed back tears. He wasn't loved by his own family. He fucked up. At first, it was just smoking marijuana at parties, then after the Demogorgon debacle of eighty-three, it was smoking it whenever he thought too much—about that creature, about Barb, all the shitty things he had done to everyone around him. After Nancy dumped him—calling him bullshit, calling their happiness bullshit, calling his love bullshit—he resorted to lacing his blunts with cocaine, it gave him a better high. Sometimes it backfired, and only managed to increase his anxiety and paranoia.

"Since you're… yenno… kicking me out for being a good for nothing junkie, can I at least have the drugs back? I noticed they were no longer in my room."

"Seriously? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"A lot. A lot is wrong with me. A girl died, dad! You know where she was last seen? Here, in our backyard. I got beat up, twice! The girl I loved doesn't love me back and so she fucked off and cheated. My only friends are literal children! So can you blame me for wanting something to take the edge off?"

"I thought you were better than this, Steven." Mr. Harrington berated, slowly descending the stairs, scowl firmly in place, and arms crossed tightly.

He stalked up to Steve, and firmly smacked him across the face. Since he was left-handed, he hit the opposite side of Steve's already battered face. Steve stood their, pain exploding in his head, but he knew his father would only get more violent if he moved or fought back. So he stood there, barely flinching as the man that was supposed to love him unconditionally physically assaulted him. The punches, slaps, and kicks hurt more than what Billy did to him. These were coming from family, not some strange new kid with an axe to grind.

When his dad was satisfied with the beating he'd delivered, he grabbed Steve's drugs from a drawer in the kitchen, shoving it into Steve's chest, and he fumbled to hang onto it. Was it worth the abuse? No. It was not. But since he'd gone through it, he might as well keep the drugs that he asked for. He clutched the two bags tightly to his chest. One had a couple of rolled blunts, the other, was a small baggie of coke. Right now, they felt like his only lifelines. He craved the peace they could offer him after what he considers to be the worst day of his life.

Steve stumbled out of the house, he cast one last look towards the front door, where the furious face of his father was, and as he gets into the driver's seat of his Bimmer, he heard the last words his father had for him.

"You've always been nothing but a disappointment, Steven."


	5. The First Night

Steve aimlessly drove around Hawkins, before seeing a payphone and remembering the promise he made to the Chief and Mrs. Byers. They would _kill_ him if he didn't call, ensuring them that he was, in fact, okay and safe. Even though he wasn't. But they couldn't find out about this. No one could. As he was driving around, foolishly wasting gas, he'd scouted out some discreet places he could park his car for the night, without raising too much suspicion.

Sighing heavily, he prepared to fake his way through this phone call, wracking his brain for excuses as to why they couldn't reach him at home.

"Hey Mrs. Byers, it's Steve." He greets, voice full of fake happiness, and he hoped it wasn't too noticeable. "I made it home safe… sorry it took so long for me to call, the uh, phone at home isn't working. Yeah, I think something is wrong with the… uh, wiring? Yeah the wiring is all fuc—messed up." He cringed at how lame and made up that sounded, but hey, fake it 'til you make it… right? "Can you tell the kids they won't be able to reach me there? Great, thanks. Oh! Tell them I still have that dinky radio of Dustin's if they need to talk to me. Thanks again Mrs. Byers."

He hung up, managing to keep the conversation quick and mostly one-sided. He took a moment to breathe. He was alone, homeless, and terribly scared. Nothing had prepared him for this, not even his inkling suspicions that his parents would eventually kick him out. But the last time he'd seriously considered what he'd do, he had friends, and had figured his parents would have the decency to wait until he was out of high school before disowning him.

The world is scary when you're on your own. When you know that there are monsters out there. When you have nobody but yourself to depend on. You against the world. Fear and uncertainty devoured Steve's soul, and he was left, a shaking, crying, mess. The whole situation was almost surreal. _How'd I get here?_ Steve sat in the driver's seat, glancing at his watch. Heaving a sigh, he starts driving towards the Godforsaken field that he'd literally just dragged himself out of, not even two days ago.

He reached the edge of the field by the woods, where he parked on the grass right off of the property line—he couldn't afford to get charged for trespassing his first night out on the streets. Branches of a large deciduous tree that still clung to its final browning leaves hung over top of his car. He gets out, stretching his legs, looking around for signs of people. Not finding any, he began to rearrange his car.

First, he put his blankets and pillow out of the trunk, and temporarily stored them on the passenger seat. He grabbed his beloved nail bat (which was his only weapon if he needed something to defend himself with), and put it on the floor under the backseat. On second thought, he put the first aid kit, flashlight, and his radio under the seat too, so he could easily get them at night. He then moved his coat and duffle bag into the trunk, and carefully placed his file of important documents into the glove compartment. Then he put together a makeshift bed, hoping the blankets would be enough to keep him warm. It was November, and the temperature was slowly dropping more and more each day. Pretty soon, frost will cover the ground, and the air will turn crisp and frigid.

Steve figured he wasn't going to get much sleep that night, so he locked the trunk, climbed into the backseat, and locked all the doors. He curled up under the blankets, finding it damn near impossible to get comfortable. Eventually, he got himself situated in the fetal position, his body between the two seatbelt buckles that dug into his spine in any other position.

For a moment, everything was still. Calm, peaceful. Then, the events of the day caught up with Steve, and he couldn't stop the shaking and crying that wracked his slim frame. He shoved his face into the pillow, muffling his sobs. His chest spasmed, as he wasn't taking in enough air in his gasps between cries. His trembling hands curled around the blanket, as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. He spent the night sobbing and worrying about his future.

"I can't do this. I can't." He whispered to himself, over and over, until eventually, he fell into a fitful doze.

He woke up as the sun began to rise. His head throbbed from not only the beating he'd taken, but from the lack of sleep and all his crying. A chill wracked his frame, and he attempts to curl up even more than he already was. His neck and back muscles screamed in protest. He'd never been so stiff and uncomfortable. He lethargically dragged himself out of the car, stretching out his sore body, before he unlocked the trunk and dug around for some fresh clothing.

He'd thought about what he was going to do, person hygiene wise, and decided that he'd just have to make do with one shower a day, after basketball. It was a good thing he'd brought deodorant and body spray, along with his hair brush. He'd have to forgo his usual hairstyle, however, he was sure that everyone would be too focussed on his fucked up face to even worry about his hair. Then, by the time they've stopped gawking at his bruised and cut up face, the lifeless hair thing would seem normal.

With minor difficulty, he got changed in the privacy of his backseat. He checked his watch, cursing at the ungodly hour. He had plenty of time before he had to go to school.

None of the kids were planning on going to school for the rest of the week, including Johnathan and Nancy. Steve, however, did. He knew there was no way in Hell he'd last a week in his car. The school provided showers, warmth, and something to _do_. The official cover story for the others was that they all had caught the flu. Steve… he'd probably explain yesterday's absence with a gesture to his face. That would be enough said.

Since he didn't have anything better to do, no really, _nothing_ better to do, he dug out his backpack, and tried to do his chemistry homework. Steve sat there, glaring at the chemical equations in frustration, when a hunger pang hit him. That was when he realized that he'd have to buy _something_, but he'd have to ration early on, as to not screw himself over later. Who knows how long it'll take him to get back on his feet.

Steve quickly decided to go Bradley's Big Buy, the grocery store nearest to Hawkins High. He picked up some plain crackers, Cheerios, and granola bars. He ignored the odd looks he received at the checkout counter, and assured an elderly woman in the parking lot that yes, he was okay, and no, he did not need a doctor.

He reached the highschool, steering with one hand, eating a granola bar with the other. As he parked, he heard tires screeching on pavement, a surefire sign that Billy was nearby. At least he knew the guy got his car back. Steve couldn't remember much from that night, but was pretty sure Mrs. Byers and Hopper returned Billy's Camaro.

Deciding that his first confrontation with Hargrove would probably be better inside the school, with lots of witnesses in case he _died_, Steve rushed to the door, slinging his bag over one shoulder. He kept his head down inside, since it was way too early to deal with people asking about his face. He put the box of crackers on the top shelf in his locker, and hung his jacket up on the hook. The warmth of the building slowly seeped into Steve's body, and for that, he was grateful. Unfortunately, he only enjoyed the serenity of the quiet, warm hallway for a few fleeting moments, before it was shattered by a phrase that would haunt Steve for a long time.

"Plant your feet, Harrington!"


	6. Hallway Hassels And Arcade Games

Billy slammed Steve into the wall, causing sparks of white-hot pain to shoot through his shoulders.

"Oh I'm sorry," Billy said, sarcasm dripping off his words, "did that hurt? 'Cause I'm sure I can find one of those bratty kids you like to associate yourself with, and they could work as a substitute. How about Max? Or that out of sorts boyfriend of hers? Or maybe, just maybe, that curly haired freak? He seemed especially distressed when I pounded your face in."

"Don't you dare touch them! I will _kill_ you." Steve seethed, getting up into Billy's personal space.

"Woah-ho-ho! Lookie here, King Steve with death threats. Yenno, it'd be a lot more intimidating if you weren't all black and blue. You gotta lot of bark for someone with no bite."

"Yeah? Well you gotta lot of nerve, but not a lotta spine."

Billy merely grinned at Steve, as if he were nothing more than a baby lion attempting to roar, and only managing a purr.

"Do not touch those kids, you hear me?"

"Maybe I do… but most likely I don't. See ya around, Pretty Boy." Billy sauntered off, laughing gleefully.

Steve was filled with dread. If Billy harmed those kids… it would all be on Steve. At that moment, he realized that he cared more about those rascals than he originally thought.

Throughout the day, multiple teachers and students asked him what happened to his face, each time Steve only responded with a cold glare. The gossip vultures would have to come up with their own story about what happened to the disgraced 'King Steve'.

At lunch, Steve sat at a table by the window in the cafeteria, alone. He was sure he looked like some sort of mysterious brooding bad boy, the bruises and cuts peeking out of his clothing only adding to the aesthetic. That thought made him grin wryly. He didn't eat anything, partly due to the unshakeable feeling of foreboding leftover from his encounter with Billy, and partly because he didn't want to eat too much food this soon into his homelessness.

He spent the afternoon making a list of places that he could apply for a job at, instead of paying attention to his schoolwork. He was reprimanded for "dicking around in class", but other than that, it was a fairly tame afternoon, and after the weekend he'd had, tame was exactly what Steve needed.

It was when he was driving from the library to Melvald's, on his application form spree, when his radio—Dustin's radio, really—crackled to life.

"Steve? Come in, over."

Steve pulled over, before stretching for the device, hidden under the backseat. After a couple more requests from what he recognized as Dustin's voice to 'come in', Steve answered.

"What do you want?"

A frustrated sigh came over the speaker, before Dustin reprimanded Steve for not using proper walkie talkie etiquette.

"You gotta say 'over' when you're done talking Steve. Over."

"Fine, fine. What do you want? Over."

"Can you pick us up? Over."

"Who's 'us'? Over."

"The party, minus El, She's hiding out at the cabin. Over."

Steve heaved a sigh. "Fine. You at home? Over."

"Yep. See you in a few. Over and out."

A pause.

"That means the end of the conversation. Okay, over and out." Dustin explained.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Steve tossed the radio back into its hiding place, before merging back onto the road, hooking a u-ie, and going to Dustin's place. When he was outside, he leaned on the horn, until Dustin appeared, cussing Steve out for being unnecessarily noisy.

As he sat shotgun, Dustin had a good look at the right half of Steve's face.

"What happened to your face?" He frowned.

"Billy happened. You should know, you were there."

"No… you didn't look like that when you left the Byers'. This is new." Dustin argued.

"No, it's not. So just can it, will ya?"

Dustin shrank back. Steve huffed, slowly pulling out onto the main road.

"Look, I'm sorry shithead. In case you haven't noticed, these past few days have been hell."

"It's okay. Uh, Max's back at home, so are Lucas, and Mike. Will's obviously at home."

Steve hummed to indicate he was listening, before heading to Lucas' place, and Mike's, before passing Mirkwood and heading to Will's. As more kids got into the car, they busied themselves with conversation, so Steve didn't feel obligated to participate. When he got to Max's, she was already waiting outside, something Steve was infinitely glad for. The last thing he wanted to do that day was have another run-in with Billy, especially when the group he'd threatened was right there.

Max had to squish into the back, with the boys, which was a bit of a tight fit, since Steve's BMW only seated three in the back, and at that moment, there were four kids back there. Not the safest situation ever, but for from dangerous.

"So now that all you dipshits are here, where am I taking you?" Steve inquired.

"The arcade." They chorused.

"M'kay, nerds."

When they arrived, instead of waiting for them to get inside and taking off, Steve got out and went inside with them.

"What are you doing?" Mike asked, incredulously.

"Getting an application form, duh." Steve retorted.

"Alright, good luck with that. There's no way Cheeto Fingers over there," Lucas pointed towards the counter with his chin, "will ever give a guy like _you_ a job."

"Thanks for the heads up and vote of confidence, shithead."

Steve sauntered over, and politely requested for the form.

"You… want to work here… at Palace Arcade… why?" Keith asked, shooting Steve a weird look.

"Need to show some responsibility?" Steve said, trying to sound confidant, but his statement came out sounding more like a nervous question.

"Alright then… top three arcade games, go!"

Steve froze, trying to wrack his brain for whatever names the kids had gushed about on the way there, knowing it would look very bad if he turned to look at the machines.

"Uh, the digging one, and the one where the one blob guy eats the others, classic… it's a classic. And uh, the… racing… one?"

"No. Get out rich boy. You clearly know nothing about arcade games."

"I could learn." Steve argued, weakly.

"You're not worth it." Keith shot back, before disappearing into the 'Employees Only' section of the building.

"Struck out?" Asked Dustin, sympathy apparent in his facial expression.

"Yeah. It's whatever though. Go play with your little friends, I'll be hanging outside." Steve said.

Dustin shrugged, and went back to trying to best 'Mad Max' at Dig Dug. Steve walked out into the parking lot, leaning against his Bimmer, wishing he could smoke a blunt, but knew he couldn't do that when he had to drive.

The relative calmness of the parking lot was broken by the revving of an engine. Blue flashed into Steve's peripheral vision, and he internally groaned, knowing that the only jackass in all of Hawkins that drove a blue car was Billy fucking Hargrove.

Said speed demon haphazardly parked next to where Steve was standing, before he climbed out, smoke curling around his head from his half smoked cigarette. Billy smirked icily at Steve.

"Fancy meeting you here, amigo. But really, we should stop meeting outside of school, people may talk. Speaking of, have you thought on what I said during our earlier… rendezvous?"


	7. Agreements

"You see," Billy said, "I want to have a… heart to heart, if you will. See, Stevie, I have all this pent up aggression and rage, and you… you are the perfect punching bag—I mean outlet—for it. Now, if you keep quiet and don't rat me out to your dweeby little child friends or the Chief, I think you and I could make the rest of the year work. Whatdya say Harrington? We got a deal?"

"If I agree… you'll leave all the kids alone? Including Max?"

"Absolutely." Billy replied, with a charming grin.

"Fine, whatever. I don't care, just… don't touch the kids." Steve agreed.

"What are you two talking about?" Max asked, voice full of suspicion, as she exited the arcade.

"Oh, nothing." Billy told her, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

She narrows her eyes at him, turning to address Steve.

"It's really nothing Max." He assured her, before ordering the rest of the kids to get in his car, instead of just hanging around the door of the arcade like flies.

Max looked at him in apprehension, before sliding into the front seat of the Camaro.

With one last glance to Billy, Steve got in his car, and sped away. The kids in the back whispered amongst themselves conspiratorially.

"So what do you think they were _really _talking about?" Dustin asked.

"Who knows." Will replied. "What do you guys think _really_ happened to his face? 'Cause it sure didn't look like that when I last saw him."

"God… what if Billy beat him up again?" Lucas inquired.

"Nah, he probably would've said something if that happened." Mike said.

Steve, who at that point noticed that none of them were riding shotgun glared at them through the rearview mirror.

"What are you assclowns doing?" He asked.

"Nothing!" They chorused, panic and guilt lacing their voices; a common theme among those kids.

Steve raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't push the issue.

"So Steve," Dustin says, elongating the word 'so' as he leaned over the centre console of the car, "my man, we were wondering… if… you would drive us to and from school? Before you say anything, keep in mind that winter is coming, which means it's getting cold outside, and we are _mere children_ that are too young to die in the harsh frigidness of Hawkins winters—"

"Way to lay it on thick shithead." Steve interrupted. "Now shut up. Fine. I'll drive you. But! My trunk lock broke so if you want a ride you're going directly to and from school, no detours. If you choose to bike, sucks to be you if it gets nasty out, you can't change your mind and get a ride. Deal?"

"Deal!" The kids cheered.

"When are you shitbags going back to school anyways?" Asked Steve.

"On Monday." Will replied. "We'll radio you to let you know if we want a ride… if… if that's okay?"

"Sounds good my dude." Steve told him, with a small smile. "I'll pick up your homework tomorrow, and drop it off sometime tomorrow night. I know you nerds need something to work on, and probably don't want to fall behind."

The kids thanked him, while protesting against the assumption that they needed schoolwork to keep their nerd brains limber.

Steve dropped the kids off at their respective homes, before driving back to the field he'd parked at the prior night.

While it was still light out, he dug out a pen, and began to fill in his application forms.

He munched on a few cheerios, before changing into sweatpants and a hoodie, and curling up in the backseat for the night. He managed to fall asleep relatively quickly, for which he was grateful for. After the hellish night he'd had last night, Steve felt like he could sleep forever. Unfortunately, lady luck was _not_ on Steve's side, as he was awoken a couple hours later.

Steve blinked his bleary eyes, as red and blue lights lit up all around his car.


	8. Phantom Limb Is All that I'm Hanging On

Steve groaned when he realized that what had awakened him was the flashing of police lights. There was no way that he'd be lucky enough to have the lazy officers (Powell and/or Callahan) be the ones to show up on scene. Most likely, it would be Hopper. This _totally_ wasn't going to be awkward.

Hopper knocked on the backseat window, after looking in the front and not seeing anyone. Steve rolled down the window, grinning bashfully at the Chief.

"Harrington? What are you doing?" He asked, his typically gruff voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

"Well, you see, I was taking a late night drive… and I got super tired. And like, I heard driving when you're tired is almost as bad as driving drunk, so I pulled over for… a… nap?" Steve replied, hesitancy creeping in near the end of his explanation.

"Well I got a call about a 'suspicious looking vehicle' by Merril—the guy who owns the pumpkin patch here—and he said he thought this was the same vehicle he saw loitering around his property last night too. You wouldn't happen to know why he'd think that… do you?"

"Nope." Steve quickly responded. "Like I said, I just got tired while taking a drive. Dunno who would've been hanging around here yesterday."

Hopper narrowed his eyes at him, before nodding slowly.

"Okay Harrington, get a move on. Just don't be loitering around anymore. Next time, you won't be getting off with a warning."

Steve sheepishly smiled at him, before bidding him farewell, crawling into the front seat, and driving off in the direction of where he used to live.

Steve drove until he felt that Hopper wouldn't run into him again, before circling back and heading to Mirkwood, where he'd scouted out a stretch of flat ground beside the road, that was decently covered by tree branches.

_Damn, caught already. So I definitely can't spend more than one night by Merril's. I gotta get my shit together. I can't afford for Hopper to get suspicious._ Steve shook his head, as if the movement would banish the thoughts from his head. He could worry tomorrow, right now, he needed sleep.

The next morning, Steve woke as the sun rose, and for a fleeting moment, he was back at home, in his bed. It was a split, blissful moment, before awareness hit him, jarring him from the peaceful unawareness. It felt like a phantom limb.

Steve got ready for the day, munching on a handful of cheerios, before starting off for school. He didn't have any issues until basketball, where Billy decided that it would be fun to knock Steve down every chance he had. By the end of the class, his knees were skinned and he knew they'd be bruised by tomorrow. The only upside to that period, was that he could shower. It felt weird for Steve not to shower before school, but he'd make do with what he could.

"What's goin' on with your hair Stevie?" Leered Tommy, and Billy could be heard chuckling in the background.

"Got tired of using product. I'm so fantastic in all my natural glory, I don't want to mess with what mother nature has bestowed upon me." Steve replied, animatedly.

Tommy rolled his eyes in response, before shaking his head and walking away, not without 'accidentally' bumping Steve's shoulder as he left.

Once school was over, Steve walked to Hawkins Middle, and talked to a lady in the office about picking up the kid's homework. After a few calls, he had the past two days worth of work, and the kid's teachers were to put the following days work in the office lady's mailbox, so Steve could pick it up easier.

"What did you say was wrong with them?" She asked, peering at Steve over the rim of her glasses.

"They all got the flu. Yeah it's uh, it's pretty bad."

She nodded and hummed, "It is flu season. Well take care of yourself…"

"Steve." He supplied.

"Steve." She repeated, with a smile.

"You too."

Steve tucked the papers into his backpack as he left. He walked back to the high school, and he deflated a bit when he saw Billy smoking and leaning against the side of his Camaro.

"What are you doing at the middle school, Stevie? Perving on other children?"

"Ew. No. Just… no. You're sick Hargrove. If you must know, I was picking up some homework for the little shitheads."

Billy chuckles, and takes a final drag on his cigarette, before stomping it out.

"I was waiting for you. I'd like to… cash in… on our deal." Billy said, a small scowl on his face.

"Huh?"

"I need to hit something, and here you are! King Steve, ready to be beaten."

Before Steve could even register what Billy meant, a fist came flying at his face. He reeled, before immediately fighting back. Steve got in a few good hits, before Billy easily overpowered him, straddling his chest as blow after blow landed on Steve's face. The fight itself didn't last very long, and once Billy let off some steam, he got up, and left. Steve spent a couple minutes laying on the ground after his departure, giving himself a chance to just breathe, and wrap his head around what had just occurred.

Once he'd steeled himself, he got up, and unlocked his car, getting in and slinging his backpack, (which had fallen beside him during the fight), into the passenger seat. He dropped off the kid's homework, as well as his completed application forms.

He then drove to a spot on the side of the road on the highway just outside of Hawkins.

The rest of his week went similarly. Steve went to school, deflected questions about his various injuries, suffered through basketball, and relished in his daily shower. At some point each day, he'd get cornered by Billy, and would walk—or more accurately, limp—away with more cuts and bruises than he'd begun his day with. He'd then head to the middle school, before dropping by each of the kid's houses. He'd heard from Lucas that Max went back to school on Wednesday, so she wouldn't fall behind. Steve couldn't drop off her school work, so he was glad to hear that she wasn't going to fall too far behind.

He figured that the worst days were going to be the weekend, since Steve had absolutely nothing to do, and he couldn't keep his car running the entire weekend, that would just waste gas, and he couldn't afford to do that. However, his dilemma was remedied by a static filled call from Mike, asking Steve to come watch the party while they played D&D, since his parents would be out, and Nancy was with Johnathan looking at some university out of state.

Steve agreed, because a warm house full of idiotic children was better than freezing his ass off in his car, and hopefully he could rummage through the Wheeler's fridge for food that wasn't bland and dry.

The greatest part was that he got to crash on their couch, because the kids had convinced their parents to let Steve chaperone a sleepover. Steve supposed that the company wasn't all that bad, if not a bit eccentric. He wasn't fond of all the attention his battered face was getting, as Dustin in particular noticed that the bruises from Billy weren't fading like they should've been. Steve brushed off his friend's worries by saying that he was a slow healer, and eventually, they left it at that.

Turns out, a weekend with a bunch of nerdy kids was just what Steve needed to brighten his week. He even began to look forward to driving them to and from school, just so he could be a part of their innocent and wild conversations. They brought a light to his life, one he hadn't known he was missing until he got it.


	9. Here We Go Again

"I've been meaning to ask you this," Dustin said, bright and early Monday morning, "what happened to your hair?"

"What are you talking about?" Steve asked, agitatedly.

"I _mean_, your hair was like, the Steve Harrington staple, yenno? It was magnificent. It made the ladies swoon! Now it's all flat and sad. What happened?"

"Nothing happened. I just don't feel like styling it anymore. Besides, all people cared about was my hair, my looks, and not… me."

Dustin frowns at that. "But, you're so much more than your hair! I didn't mean to imply—"

"It's whatever though." Steve cut him off.

Steve pulled up outside Mike's house, obnoxiously honking the horn until Mike finally walked out the door, flipping Steve off as he approaches the BMW; effectively stopping the conversation between Dustin and himself. He continues on, picking up the other boys, and dropping them off at the front of Hawkins middle, before parking in the high school parking lot.

The day went like every other school day, the only difference, was that Nancy and Johnathan were there. Steve sat with them at lunch, eating crackers to keep up appearances.

Steve noticed that playing basketball was getting more and more difficult. He couldn't seem to catch his breath, and running, even for short periods of time, sucked any energy he had out of him. When he picked himself up off the ground after Billy knocked him down, Steve's vision would cloud with dark spots, and his head would swim.

Concentrating on school work was never Steve's strong suit, but now it seemed like a nearly impossible task. His physical and mental difficulties were beginning to worry him, he's only been living in his car for a week, and he knew he couldn't afford to eat more than a handful of food each day.

His concerns only grew when he went around to all the places he'd applied for a job at, and none of them gave him any positive results. A problem was that he no longer had a fixed address, nor a phone number, making Steve hard to contact. At that point, he realized that he was getting dangerously low on gas, and he had to fill the tank. That particular trip to the gas station put a big dent in the wad of cash he had. By Steve's estimate, he couldn't afford to gas up more than two more times, and that's if he doesn't buy food.

Despite it only being a week without proper nutrition, Steve was already beginning to look different… thinner, sicker, sadder. He'd lost most of his water weight, and he knew he'd be losing fat and muscle mass next.

Other than the addition of Nancy, Johnathan, and the kids, the week went almost exactly like the last. Each day Billy hurt him, getting slightly more violent as the week wore on. One thing about his regularly scheduled beatings that Steve appreciated, was that Billy didn't hit him in the face. That made it much easier to hide the evidence of the fights from those he cared about. Unfortunately, Steve really sucked at hiding his rapidly declining health—both physical and mental.

On Wednesday, when it was his turn to ride shotgun again, Dustin looked over Steve's frame with a scrutinizing glance.

"Weren't you wearing that shirt yesterday?"

"Yeah, why?" Steve replied, eyes shifting to look over at the younger boy, before drifting back to the road. A swirl of anxiety began making its home in Steve's gut.

"Isn't it like… some sort of cardinal sin to wear the same thing twice in a row?"

"I wouldn't say it's… whatever the hell you just called it, but yeah, popularity wise, I guess it's scandalous." Steve joked, attempting to hide his nervousness behind humour.

"I'm just saying," Dustin prattled on, "first it's the hair, now the clothes… and don't get me started on your weight loss, that's a whole other story… what's going on with you man?"

"Nothing! So what if I don't give a fuck about arbitrary things like clothes and hair. I got lots of other things to worry about right now. Okay? So just… butt out." Steve snapped, and Dustin deflated a little, turning to stare out the side window, rather than the windshield.

The days went on similarly, and on the weekend, Steve watched the kids yet again while they did their campaign. Rather than steal the Wheeler's food though, he mostly napped on the couch in the basement, exhaustion seeped so deep within him, that he could sleep through all of the kid's noise.

By the next week, which marked Steve's third week of homelessness, the kids seemed to be faring much better after the whole 'Demodogs attacked and the Mind Flayer was controlling one of us and there was Upside Down tunnels growing like vines right beneath the feet of everyone in Hawkins' thing. The boys would consistently ride with Steve, switching out who rode shotgun after each trip. As much as Steve liked and had bonded with Dustin, he secretly preferred when it was Will's turn to sit up front. Their energies seemed to complement each other well. Steve was loud and chaotic, whereas Will was quiet and reserved. Despite the differences in nature, they got along pretty well. Will never pried into Steve's life, and likewise, Steve didn't push Will to talk about anything that the younger didn't explicitly bring up himself.

Steve had had to gas his truck up again, and made two more trips to the grocery store, once to Melvald's General Store, when he knew Mrs. Byers wasn't working, and one trip back to Bradley's Big Buy. Steve had gotten into the habit of not eating for a day or two, just to avoid running out of supplies too fast. He had yet to hear back from the stores he'd applied to, and he didn't think he'd make it until the late spring, when Starcourt Mall should be up and running. It was all over the radio and television (or so he'd heard, most info he got from the kids was fairly accurate). On the days he couldn't afford to eat, he'd pretend to have a teacher or coach to talk to at lunch, so he could avoid Nancy and Johnathan's prying eyes.

His meetings with Billy were also taking a lot out of him. There was very little skin beneath his sweaters that wasn't marred with bruises or welts. There were scrapes and cuts littering his arms and legs. Everything ached.

Steve began to ditch basketball, as he was too weak to play. He'd take the extra time to have a nice, long shower, one of the few things he looked forward to on a day-to-day basis.

It was Thursday, week four, (day ten of no food due to lack of money, and Steve had needed to pay for gas, yet again), approximately one o'clock in the afternoon, when things began to go to shit. Which, considering everything Steve had been through, was saying something. It began with a sickeningly familiar phrase.

"Plant your feet Harrington!"

"Please don't." Steve whispered, voice hoarse.

Before he knew it, Billy had his hands on Steve's shoulders, and was slamming him into the locker bank. Already weak from days without food, Steve simply took the abuse, not bothering to attempt to fight back. After a couple of good hits, mostly to his face and chest, Steve's vision went spotty, black dots dancing in front of his eyes, much like when he stood up too fast. However, this time, they didn't go away, and he was consumed by the darkness.

Steve's body fell limp, and he was left prostrate in a high school hallway, unaware of the chaos this particular incident would unravel.


	10. Half Truths

"_Just kept wailing on him…"_

"_Went fuckin' batshit…"_

"_I heard he did this to him last month too…"_

Hopper snapped his notebook shut, rubbing his forehead in frustration, before gazing over at the teenager laying in the hospital bed next to him. His small form was dressed in a hospital gown, the top half peeking out from the thin blanket that was pulled up just past his waist. An IV catheter was nestled in the crook of his left elbow, delivering saline and nutrients.

"Chief?" A nurse addressed, as she walked into the room.

Hopper looked up at her, before shaking her hand, and asking why they needed him there.

"The condition Steven Harrington came in with, we have reason to suspect child abuse and/or neglect."

"What exactly did he come in with?"

"He passed out due to blunt force trauma to the head, as well as moderate malnutrition. The latter, along with the copious amount of old contusions, lacerations, and abrasions, as well as many scars, indicate poor living conditions. Which could mean he is being abused."

"Or he's just getting in fights, like many teenage boys do." Hopper argued.

"But fights or bullying don't usually result in malnutrition. Either he's being neglected, or he's purposely starving himself." She replied.

"So what do you want _me_ to do?" Hopper asked, gruffly.

"I need you to work with us to figure out what's happened to this kid."

Hopper sighed, before nodding slowly.

Almost an hour passed before Steve showed signs of waking up. His breathing hitched, before lightening up, and his eyes moved behind his lids, before he slowly cracked them open, immediately slamming them closed once the harsh hospital lighting assaulted his pupils.

"Welcome to the land of the living." Hopper said, trying to keep his tone light.

"Am I in a hospital?" Steve questioned, frowning as he blinked, eyes still adjusting to their surroundings.

"Yeah Harrington, you are. You mind telling me what happened kid?"

"I uh, I don't know." Steve said, fidgeting and looking out the window.

"Don't lie to me."

Steve pretended he didn't hear what Hopper had said.

"Harrington. Listen kid, I know you're beat up, and you're probably drained and upset, but I need you to work with me here. You hear me?"

Steve nodded, still looking away from the chief.

"What happened?"

"Where do I start?"

"The beginning." Hopper replied, wincing at how cliché his statement sounded.

"You know what happened the night of the tunnels?"

"Yeah, that Hargrove punk tried to attack the kids and you stopped him."

"Well I guess Max threatened him, but he didn't stay scared of her for long, so… so I made a deal with him. A stupid, stupid deal. But I can't go back on my word! I can't let anything happen to those little shitheads." Steve said, panic rising in his voice.

"Okay, tell me about the deal." Hopper said, calmly.

"He can hurt me. So the kids are safe. He promised he wouldn't touch them. But now I've told you and the kids are in danger and he's going to hurt them and I can't stop it and—"

"Hey, hey. Slow down. It's okay. I'm going to make sure they stay safe, okay? You have nothing to worry about. Now, can you describe what happens when he hurts you?"

"He… he just hits me 'n' stuff. Usually not the face though. I don't—I don't know why he flew off the rails today." Steve explained, voice thick with emotion.

"Okay. Can you tell me when this all started? You said something about Max and the tunnels?" Hopper prompted.

"It was only a couple days after everything that happened."

"Okay, you're doin' good kid. Now I need to ask a few more questions, but if you want, we can take a break."

"No let's just—let's just get this over with."

"Can you tell me why you lost so much weight this past month? Are you not getting enough food at home?"

Steve sat there, fiddling with the hem of the blanket, curling his arms around his propped up knees. For a while, Hopper didn't think Steve was going to answer.

"I'm not hungry anymore. After what happened, I just… didn't feel like eating." Steve lied, trying and failing to meet Hopper's gaze.

"Are you being abused?" Hopper bluntly asked.

"Wouldn't my parents have to be around to abuse me?" Steve snarked.

"So they neglect you?"

"That's not what I said! Stop putting words in my mouth."

"You wanna tell me where all those old injuries came from?"

"They're from Billy. Did we not just go over this?"

"What's going on at home, Harrington?" Hopper pressed, trying to quell the ever growing frustration he felt whenever Steve lied or deflected.

"Nothing." He snapped, glaring at the chief. "Go away. I don't want you here anymore."

"Kid…"

"I said get out! Get out! Get out! Get out!" Steve shouted, the commotion alerting the nurses at their desk, who came in and escorted Hopper out.

Steve sat in his hospital bed, tears streaming down his face, mixing with snot and blood from wounds on his face that had reopened as he sobbed.

After being kicked out of the hospital for the day, Hopper rounded the kids, including Johnathan and Nancy, to the Byers' house, to question them about Steve's attitude, appearance, and general wellbeing. What they told him only served to worry Hopper more.

"He's like, skinny now."

"He seems sad and angry a lot."

"He doesn't talk or joke as much."

"One time I saw him shoving a blanket and pillow into his trunk before he did his obnoxious honking for me to get in his car in the morning."

"He only ever eats like, crackers, cereal, or granola bars for lunch."

"Yeah, and never very much of them."

"Wait, did you say trunk? He said that it was still broken."

"Yeah, he had a lot of stuff packed in there. I figured he was going on a trip or something."

"I caught him loitering outside of Merrill's farm one night, he was napping in the backseat of his car? Told me he was taking a late night drive, and got tired so he pulled over, but that doesn't explain why he already had blankets and a pillow with him."

_Shoving a blanket and pillow into the trunk… doesn't eat much… non perishable foods… lying about his trunk lock… lot's of stuff in his car… sad, skinny, not talking… _

All the puzzle pieces were right there in front of him, but Hopper just _couldn't_ quite put them together.


	11. Hospital Visits

"Is Steve going to be okay?" Asked Dustin, as he fiddles with his signature hat.

"Yeah kid. He's gonna be okay. He just needs time to heal." Hopper assured him.

"When can we see him?" Will asked, apprehensively.

"When he's calmer, so probably some time tomorrow, but I'm not making promises."

"Did he say what happened?" Max piped up, brow creased with worry.

"He did, but let's not talk about that right this second, okay?"

"Is what happened to him why you're asking questions about his well being?" Mike asked, uncharacteristically worried about the teen.

"Partly."

The kids considered this in silence.

Meanwhile, in the hospital, Steve argued fiercely with two nurses.

"No! I'm seventeen, almost eighteen, practically an adult. You don't need to call my parents."

"Sweetie, you're still a minor, we have to inform your parents that you're here." The first nurse explained, placating Steve.

"Yeah hun," the second nurse added on, "I'm sure they'd like to know where you are. They must be worried sick."

Steve scoffed at that, and pointedly stared out the window.

"You told the chief that they don't abuse you, you were telling the truth, right?"

The nurses were met with silence.

"Can you tell us their phone number?"

Sighing at the lack of response, they left, discussing amongst themselves how to contact his parents, deciding to try looking up the Harrington parents in the yellow pages.

A tear makes its way down Steve's face, as the events of the day caught up to him.

He'd hid everything that was happening decently well for a month, and now, because Billy's an idiot, he was coming disturbingly close to having all his secrets revealed. Why did he have to hit him in the head? If that hadn't happened, then he probably could've hidden the bullying from everyone, especially the kids. Since he passed out and was rushed to the hospital, now the chief and nurses suspected more happened to him than just a stupid school fight.

He knew the nurses wouldn't be able to reach his parents on the phone. The chances of them actually being in Hawkins was slim to none. He wondered if the lack of communication with his parents would make things better or worse for him. Probably worse, since they were concerned that there was child neglect going on. Perhaps he could persuade Hopper to get him out of the hospital. Surely he could make that happen. He _is_ the police chief after all.

After a few minutes, the nurses came back, looks of pity etched on their faces.

"Honey, we can't get a hold of your parents. Are they at home right now?"

"No."

"Where are they?"

"Business trip." It was exactly a lie, more like an educated guess on Steve's part.

"Do you know the number for their hotel?"

"No."

"Do you know of any way to contact them?"

"No."

"Is there any other relative we can call?"

"No."

Steve could tell that they were getting frustrated, whether it be with him or his parents, he couldn't tell.

"So our treatment plan for you will go as followed," the nurse redirected, "we'll keep you here overnight, for IV vitamin therapy, that just means we're replenishing your nutrients through the IV in your arm. Tomorrow, Chief Hopper will be back, and we'll discuss with him what to do since we can't contact your parents. If you're up for it, the chief would like to bring your little friends by to see you in the morning."

"I'd like to see those shi—kids. I'd like to see the kids." Steve replied.

If the nurses noticed his mistake, they didn't show it. They smiled fondly at him, before bidding him goodnight, and closing the door as they left.

Left to his own devices, Steve decided to take advantage of having a real bed for once, and promptly fell asleep, something many patients in the hospital couldn't do. But after spending a month sleeping in the back of his car (except for the occasional time he slept on the Wheeler's couch), a hospital bed seemed like a luxury.

He woke up the next morning to hushed voices arguing around him.

"Hey, shitheads, it's kinda rude to argue in the hospital while I'm sleeping." Steve grumbled, as he blinked groggily.

"Sorry Steve we—" Dustin started.

"You should've waited for me to wake up. Free entertainment 'n' all." Steve cut him off, with a grin.

"Shut up, dumbass." Laughed Max.

Hopper stood in the doorway, a small smile on his face as he watched Steve animatedly interact with 'The Party'. He looked so happy when they were together. The smile on Steve's face almost looked misplaced amongst all the injuries afflicted there.

Most of the visit was spent joking around, and Steve assured the kids that he was, in fact, going to be okay. Johnathan and Nancy even stepped in for a few minutes, before they urged the kids to say their goodbyes, and ushered them out of the room so Hopper and Steve could talk in private.

"So the kids and I were talking yesterday," Hopper said, as he eased himself down into the chair by Steve's bedside, "and I think I've connected the dots."

"Really?"

"Yeah, surprising ain't it? The police chief being presented with puzzle pieces and managing to put them together? Wild." Hopper said, sarcastically, causing Steve to crack a smile.

"So… you gonna tell me what you think you know?" Steve sassed.

"I think you're neglected by your parents. Not only that, I don't think you're living at home. I think you're secretly living in your car, because you're too scared or too idiotic to ask anyone for help."


	12. Revelations

Steve stared at him in silence. Panic rising in his chest, like burning hot yet simultaneously freezing cold tendrils wrapping around his heart. He fought to keep his face blank. But couldn't inconspicuously blink away the tears that were gathering at the corners of his eyes.

"What… what's your… no! What's your proof, huh? 'Cause I can tell you right now that you're dead wrong." Steve hissed.

"You don't know where your parents are, and you have no way of contacting them. You keep an abnormal amount of stuff in your trunk, including blankets and pillows. You lied to the kids to hide all the things you're lugging around. You don't eat much, and if you do, it's all non perishable food. You've also lost weight, an unhealthy amount in a short period of time. Everyone can tell that you're angrier and sadder than before." Hopper replied, voice raising at each point, so that by the end of his explanation, he was yelling.

"Stop! You're wrong! Everything you just said is complete and utter bullshit!" Steve shouted, voice cracking when he said 'bullshit'.

"Oh yeah? Then explain yourself. What happened? And don't you dare try to pin this all on that Hargrove kid." Hopper retorted.

"He _is _the reason I'm here." Steve weakly argued.

"Uh huh. And he's the reason you're laying here, scared and starving?"

"I'm _not_ scared. Or starving. I just hit my head. In the fight. With _Billy_."

"C'mon kid, stop deluding yourself. I can keep you safe now. All you gotta do is tell me the truth."

"I told you the truth."

Hopper sighed, rubbing his temple. He stood up, patted Steve's shoulder, and left, knowing that he wouldn't be able to talk some sense into Steve if he directed all his frustrations at the boy.

Out in the hall, a fair distance away from Steve's room, Hopper let out all his pent up anger and aggression on the wall, punching it over and over again, in hopes that the blood and bruises would bring him peace and clarity. Panting, he stalked down the hall, towards the payphone he had passed on his way in. He punched in Joyce's number, impatiently tapping his foot as he awaited to hear her voice on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" Came the familiar, cautious tone, slightly tinged with panic.

"It's me, Hopper." He said, gruffly.

"Hop! I thought you were with Steve at the hospital?"

"Yeah well, I am. He's… I don't even know. The kids are with Johnathan and Nancy, and I tried to talk to him but… he's persistent with this story that he's fine, and it was just a school fight gone wrong or whatever. But he's not—he's not okay. Not in any sense of the word. He needs help. He knows it. I know it. But it's like we're at an impasse. Maybe you could talk some sense into him? Maybe he needs a maternal figure to turn to or just… someone who isn't the chief of police? Look I'm not saying you have to, but it'd be really nice if you tried to—"

"Jim." She cut him off. "I'll be there soon. You're just lucky it's my day off, and I have a soft spot for him. Especially after what happened _that_ night. He protected my boy's friends. He's in trouble now, I want to help him. So I will be there."

Hopper hung up without so much as a 'thank you' or a 'goodbye'. Taking a deep, calming breath, he walked back to Steve's room, the fact that Joyce was on her way giving him some peace of mind. He sat next to Steve in a thick, awkward silence, until Joyce arrived. Once he spotted her lingering just inside the doorway, he excused himself.

"Hey sweetie." She greeted, running a hand through Steve's limp hair as she sat in the vacant seat.

"Hi Mrs. Byers." Steve whispered.

"How are you doing?"

Steve shrugged, and looked away.

"Dumb question, huh?" She paused, and upon getting no response, she continued to talk, filling the space between them with words. "Look I know you don't want to talk about what happened, or what you've been dealing with lately; and you don't have to. But sweetie, if you're in trouble, or if you need help, I can—we can—help you. But you don't have to talk now. Just know that we're here, right by your side. All we want is for you to be safe, and happy."

Steve sniffled, and attempted to discreetly wipe away his tears. He was tired. So tired. The burden of his homelessness, the bullying, everything that had happened weighed him down. It felt like there was water in his lungs, filling his chest, drowning him.

"I can't do this anymore."

"Tell me about it. It might help." Joyce soothed.

"Sometimes I wake up and for a split, blissful moment, I'm still in my bed at home. But then… awareness or wakefulness or whatever hits, and I'm back in my car, freezing to the point I can't feel my hands or feet. Everyday that this goes on, I lose my will to live bit by bit." Steve confessed.

"Why aren't you living at home?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not? Are you—are you in trouble? Did something happen?"

"I'll get in trouble if I say. I don't—I can't…" He cried.

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay. Whatever you did, you're not gonna get in trouble for it."

"I got kicked out," he met her eyes, "because my dad found drugs in my room. But I promise I haven't used since. Every time I looked at them, all I could think about was the price I paid to get them back. I wanted to though, take the drugs, I mean."

Joyce smiled softly at him, and placed her hand over his, brushing her thumb over his dry knuckles.

"You know Hop won't write you up for that. After what we all went through… we all have our escapes. But you can stay clean now. You can live without the drugs. And we can find you a job. Get you into a real home. We can help you. If… if you'll let us?" She told him.

Steve stared at her in surprise. The tears he'd been fruitlessly trying to hold back all day fell down his cheeks, and shortly after the first few escaped, he doubled over, sobbing his heart out. Joyce pulled his shaking frame into her arms, and Hopper, who had been loitering outside the door, hurried in and placed a grounding hand on Steve's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Steve bawled, "I'm so sorry."


	13. After The Storm

Joyce held Steve's shaking frame until he was no longer sobbing his heart out. After a couple of minutes, Steve sniffled a few times, wiped his eyes and nose on the back of his hand, and slowly pulled away from Mrs. Byers' embrace.

"Sorry." He sheepishly whispered, looking away.

"Don't apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for." Joyce told him, firmly, but not unkindly.

Steve managed to shoot her a half smile, before he began to anxiously twist the bed sheets around in his hands.

"What's gonna happen now?" He asked, sounding like a frightened child.

"First, you're gonna have to explain your situation to Hop, and after that, we'll get your treatment plan sorted out, and then we'll decide where to go from there."

He nodded silently in response, and Joyce excused herself to go and get Hopper. Hopper came in without Joyce, and took the seat she had vacated.

"She uh, she wanted us to have some privacy for this conversation, but she's just down in the waiting room with the others." Jim explained.

"Okay." Steve hoarsely replied.

"Kid. You gotta tell me the whole story. Start to finish, and don't leave anything out. I promise I won't get mad or punish you for anything you disclose. I just need to know what happened to you."

"It started after _that_ night with the… yenno. I went home and…" Steve told Hopper everything. The abuse at the hands of his father, the _need_ to get high out of his mind, but didn't after he was kicked out. Billy's bullying, their stupid deal. What it was like living in his Bimmer, and how difficult it was to look for a job, get food, and pay for gas. _Everything._

Hopper sat silently for the most part, occasionally interrupting to ask a question or to clarify something Steve had said. He took brief notes in his pocket notebook.

"Thank you for telling me." Hopper awkwardly said, when Steve was finished.

"I'm gonna go track down your doctor, so we can get an idea of what your treatment plan looks like, before we make any other arrangements. Is—does that sound alright?"

"Yeah."

A few minutes later, Hopper returned to the room, with Steve's doctor in tow.

"Alright Steven." The doctor started.

"Don't call me that." Steve snapped. "It's Steve."

"Okay Steve, we've had you on a nutrient rich IV, but Chief Hopper told me that you said you haven't eaten in ten days? Is this true?"

"Yeah." He replied, nervously wetting his lips.

"Okay so before we can release you, we've got to start you out on a liquid diet, and after a few days, we'll reintroduce your system to soft foods. If you handle that well, we can get you back to eating normally."

"Why so many steps?" Steve asked, brow creased in confusion.

"We're trying to avoid having you experience something called 'Refeeding Syndrome'. It's a potentially dangerous condition that people who go long periods of time without eating experience when they try to go back to eating how they used to." He explained.

"How long will he have to stay in the hospital?" Hopper asked.

"Until he's at least on a soft food diet. Then we can discuss at home treatment options." The doctor replied.

"Okay, thank you." Hopper dismissed.

"I'll be back to check on you in a little bit." He told Steve, who merely nodded in response.

"How am I gonna get discharged if they can't contact my parents for permission?"

"You're seventeen, right?" Hopper asked.

"Yeah… why?"

"Legally, you can claim that you're an independant. Meaning you don't need your parents for anything. That way, you can legally move out, get a home, and be emancipated from your parents. It'd be like you're an adult, while also being a minor."

"Uh, okay."

"It'll all make sense soon, don't worry too much about it."

"Can I see the kids again?" Steve redirected.

"Sure. I'll go get them."

Hopper groaned slightly as he eased himself out of the chair, and ambled to the door.

"Hey Steve," Joyce popped her head into the room, "Before you see them, can we talk really quickly?"

Steve frowned slightly, tired of talking. But he nodded in consent anyways.

"I know you're probably tired of… talking and everything. But, I just want to give you a bit of an idea of what we're gonna do after you're outta here."

"Sure, it'd be nice to have a bit of a plan, I guess."

"If it's okay with you, I could talk to my boss at Melvald's, and then we can see about having you apply for a job there, and then applying for low-income assistance. So the government would help you with living expenses."

"Okay."

"We could maybe get you into low-income housing, get you a bus pass if you can't afford your car, yenno, since minimum wage doesn't really pay or cover much."

"Yeah."

"I'll bring the kids in now." Joyce said, sensing that the conversation wasn't going anywhere, and would probably go a little better on a different day.

The kids ran into the room, all eager to spend more time with Steve. To their credit, Steve didn't look nearly as happy at any other time than when he was with them. He sat up straighter, his smile was wide and genuine, and he laughed like he had no care in the world, the corners of his eyes scrunching in joy. Everything about his demeanor seemed lighter, freer, just… better.


	14. Release

"We can't afford to employ him Joyce! That damn mall is taking away from business and it isn't even built yet." Donald Melvald said, tiredness and frustration evident in his voice. "It's tough enough with just you and Jeffory. We cannot take on some kid."

"But he's a kid that's _living out of his car_. Boss, please. Just until he can get a job elsewhere and get back on his feet." Joyce pleaded.

The two stare at each other in a tense silence, Joyce's gaze stern and unwavering. After a couple moments, Donald broke eye contact before wearily sighing.

"He gets minimum wage, and a minimum amount of hours. That's the best I can do. Deal?"

"Deal. Thank you so much!" Joyce cried, a smile spreading across her face.

It was the Monday after Steve was hospitalized when he was finally released. He was back onto a liquid diet and was beginning to transition to a soft food diet. For the most part, he looked better than before. His bruising was turning yellow and light green, evolving from the dark hues of blue and purple.

"So are you gonna be okay staying with Hopper and El?" Dustin asked, sitting on the edge of the chair next to Steve's hospital bed.

"Yeah. Yeah I'll be okay Dusty." Steve grinned, as he mussed up Dustin's curls.

"Why didn't you say anything to us?"

"Dustin…"

"C'mon man! We used you for rides to school, babysitting, taking us places. You should've told us what was going on. We could've helped you." Dustin argued.

"I told you, I didn't want to burden you guys. Besides, it was _my_ problem, and I thought I had it handled."

"Sonofabitch Steve!"

"Just drop it Dustin." Steve yelled back.

A knock at the door broke up the two boy's arguing, but did nothing to stop the glaring between them.

"Hey boys." Joyce greeted, a soft smile gracing her features.

"Hi Mrs. Byers."

"So Steve," Joyce said, "I have some good news for you... I talked to my boss, and he's agreed to temporarily employ you. And on my way here, I picked up application forms for different stores that'll be in the Starcourt Mall."

"Thanks you so much Mrs. Byers. I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you for all that you're doing for me." Steve replied, unable to meet Joyce's motherly gaze.

"Oh there's no need for that, honey." Joyce said, dismissively.

"But—"

"Are you ready to go? Hopper should be here any minute now." She cut him off.

"Uh, yeah. Pretty much." Steve replied, adjusting the neck of his hoodie.

That was something he'd missed while being in the hospital; wearing his own clothing. The familiarity of the fabric brought him a sense of comfort that he had been deprived of during his stay.

The trio sat in silence, that was soon broken by Hopper's arrival.

"Hey kid. Ready to bust outta here?" He asked, in lieu of greeting.

"Hell yeah." Steve grinned.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, taking a second before standing up slowly, knowing from experience that going to fast will just make him lightheaded. He scans the room, before following Hopper, Joyce, and Dustin out the door. Will joined their little group when they passed the floor's waiting room. The younger boy shot Steve a wide smile. Steve returned it, albeit a little less enthusiastically. The five split up in the parking lot, after Dustin and Will gingerly hugged Steve goodbye. The younger boys left with Joyce, leaving Steve alone with Hopper.

"Just so you know," Hopper explained to Steve as they got into the police truck, "I had your car towed from the school to a spot near my cabin."

"Thanks. Seriously, thank you."

"It's no problem kid. You've grown on me. You're a good kid that deserves some help."

The rest of the ride was filled with the soft sound of music and idle chatter between the two. As they neared the woods, Steve started thinking about how things are going to be now that he's out of the hospital. What was school going to be like? How far behind was he? Would the teachers care or help? What about Billy? _What about Billy? _

"Hey Hopper… what happened with Billy?"


	15. Endings Are Pathways To New Beginnings

It wasn't like in the movies; seeing your tormentor after a brutal conflict that resulted in a hospital stay. Time didn't slow down, their eyes didn't meet, there was no minute-long moment where the air was heavy like honey, with tension thick enough to be cut with a knife. In fact, when Steve passed Billy in the hall at school, the other boy didn't so much as _look_ in Steve's general direction.

According to Hopper, Billy was suspended for a week, and has detention after school for the next two weeks. He was also banned from basketball, and was warned not to intentionally cross paths with Steve.

"You know," Hopper said one evening, "you could still press charges on that Hargrove kid."

"Nah, he's not worth it."

"How about a restraining order?"

"How'd he go to school? There's only one highschool in town." Steve replied.

"You really don't want to make him pay for what he did to you?" Hopper asked, incredulously.

"It's whatever now. As long as he's not bugging the kids… or me… I don't care."

Hopper hummed in response, before getting up and putting away their dinner plates.

"I'm gonna go get El from the Wheeler's, you wanna join?"

"Sure."

The ride over was companionable, the two males talking about Steve's homework, how his job at Melvald's was going, and lightheartedly bickering over Hop's choice in music.

Hopper honked the horn a couple times as they pulled up to the curb, and El bounded over to the truck, grinning when she saw Steve in the front seat.

"Hey squirt, how was your time with Mike?"

"It was good. Really good. He taught me more about the game he likes to play with the party." She replied, clambering into the backseat.

"You gonna join them for a uh, what're they called… uh," Steve started, snapping his fingers as he tried to think of the correct term they used, "campaign?"

"Soon. I don't know when 'soon' is, but he promised it won't be as long as Hopper's 'soon's are." Eleven explained, shooting Hopper a friendly glare behind his back.

"I said I was sorry." Hopper huffed.

Steve snorted, and El grinned wildly at that.

Back at the cabin, the three sat down to watch TV, and talk about their day. Most days went similarly to this one. Steve went to school, actively avoided Billy, and started to focus on his schoolwork. He worked the hours that he could at Melvald's, and, when the posters and flyers about applying for jobs at Starcourt started circling around town, Steve jumped on every opportunity to apply. He even filled out applications for the "totally lame" stores, like Claire's, Scoops Ahoy, Hotdog On A Stick, and Jazzercise.

In the end, it didn't really matter where he ended up working, he'd still only make $3.35 an hour. Every job would only pay minimum wage. But, a job is a job. The closer the date of the Starcourt Mall Grand Opening, the worse business at Melvald's and other small stores around town got. The lack of response from the stores only served to make Steve anxious, as he knew he'd be laid off as soon as the mall opened. That was the deal.

"What if I don't get a job?" Steve asked, as he pushed his dinner around his plate one evening.

"Just give it time, alright? Relax a little, okay?" Hopper told him.

"Yeah, yeah. Patience is a virtue 'n' all that shi—stuff" Steve griped.

"What is 'virtue'?" El inquired.

As Hopper grabbed the dictionary, claiming that 'virtue' would be the word of the day, the landline began to ring. Seeing as Hopper was preoccupied with helping Eleven find the right page, Steve got up to answer the phone.

"Hello? Yes this is him speaking… really? Thank you so much. I really appreciate this opportunity. Next Tuesday would be great. Yep, one o'clock? Yeah that's great. Thank you again. Bye." Steve hung up the phone, taking a deep breath. "Hop! I got a job interview for a restaurant at Starcourt."

"That's fantastic! See, I told you there was nothing to worry about." Hopper replied, smiling widely at the boy he has come to see as a son.

"I'm happy for you Steve." El chimed in.

"Thanks kid." Steve smiled, ruffling her hair. "It's really starting to feel like my life is coming together."

"You're gonna be okay kid," Hopper told Steve, his hand clasped on the teen's shoulder as he stared at him in the eyes, "you're gonna be okay."


End file.
